


Distance

by SherlockianWhovian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Mycroft Feels, Mycroft-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4740227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianWhovian/pseuds/SherlockianWhovian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock avoids his brother whenever he can. Except when he can't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Get out of my life, Mycroft. I don't want to see you again." Sherlock hissed at Mycroft after a particularly bad argument.

"Okay." Mycroft replied with a nod and promptly walked out of Sherlock's life.

"You shouldn't have done that. He's only trying to help you, Sherlock." John sighed, shaking his head.

\---

Mycroft didn't see his brother again until two years later. He'd made a point of staying away from Baker Street and not lending his assistance. He ignored John's calls and stopped keeping an eye on the Detective and his Blogger. He knew he shouldn't let Sherlock's words bother him, but it did hurt to be continuously pushed away by the younger brother that he cared so much about.

"You called my office, John?" Mycroft said as he arrived in the hospital waiting room.

"Yes. Sherlock was stabbed during a case." John replied.

Mycroft kept his expression blank, "Will my brother live?" he asked.

"Yes, but I thought you'd want to know." John replied.

"Apologies John. I have a meeting with the Prime Minister." Mycroft said before he turned away.

"Mycroft. He does miss you." John said, watching the man pause.

"I am not welcome in my brother's life. I understand that." Mycroft replied, turning back to face John.

"He was angry. He didn't mean what he said." John sighed, "Stay and visit him."

"Things have changed, John. Sherlock is no longer my priority." Mycroft replied, moving his left hand a little so a gold ring caught the light.

"You're married? Wow. To who?" John asked in surprise, walking over and separating the distance between them.

"Deduce me, John." Mycroft encouraged, amusement in his voice.

John laughed a little, "I doubt I could deduce anything about you, Mycroft." he said.

Mycroft went to sit down and John sat beside him.

"Look closely and tell me what you see." Mycroft invited, relaxing in the chair.

John allowed himself to look Mycroft over. He'd never had the opportunity to openly study him. The man was impeccably dressed, as always, but he seemed more relaxed beneath his three-piece armour. The umbrella, with it's large wooden handle, was in Mycroft's right hand as usual. The gold ring looked new as it lacked scratches and scuff marks.

"You got married recently. This year?" John started, continuing after Mycroft gave him a reassuring nod, "So it's someone you've known for a while and not someone you've just met. You're very private, you don't have a large social circle... Anthea?"

"Very good, John. My brother is wearing off on you." Mycroft chuckled warmly, "Yes. Anthea. We were married in the Spring, after many years of avoiding the issue."

"How long has she worked for you?" John asked curiously.

"I recruited her straight from university." Mycroft replied, "I knew she would be useful to me. I was right, we've worked together for just over 12 years."

"Not just a fling then?" John chuckled.

Mycroft nodded, "Not just a fling." he agreed.

A nurse came into the waiting room, "John Watson? Mr Holmes is asking for you." she said.

John got to his feet, "Come on, Mycroft." he said before he followed the nurse.

With a sigh, Mycroft accompanied John to the private room where his little brother was.

\---

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock said with a groan when he saw Mycroft.

"Dr Watson alerted me to your injury." Mycroft replied from the doorway. He didn't move any closer, wanting to be able to walk away quickly.

"You've changed." Sherlock stated, examining his brother, "Marriage, stress, illness."

"Be quiet, Sherlock. I prefer for my private life not to be broadcast so freely." Mycroft said coolly.

"Illness? What illness?" John asked, turning to look at Mycroft, "What did I miss?"

"Diabetes, John. He's got pinpricks on the pads of his fingers. Obvious." Sherlock declared.

"You're a diabetic?" John asked, looking Mycroft over again.

"Yes. Years of 20-hour days have caught up with me, I'm afraid. Middle age is not kind." Mycroft replied with a sigh.

"Sit down before you fall down, old man." Sherlock hissed, with very little venom in his tone.

"How kind you are, brother." Mycroft muttered, taking a seat beside the bed.

\---

Anthea arrived with coffee an hour later. She went straight to Mycroft and handed him one of the cups.

"Just coffee and some cream. No sugar." she warned him, squeezing his shoulder.

"I'm going to have to get sweeteners. This no sugar rule is dreadful." Mycroft complained.

"I'll get you some." Anthea assured with a smile. She walked around the bed and handed both John and Sherlock a cup each.

"Thanks, Anthea." John said with a smile, "Congratulations." he added when he spotted the gold ring on her left hand.

Anthea sat down in the spare seat beside Mycroft, "Thank you." she replied.

Sherlock watched them as he drank from his cup. His eyes widened a little as Anthea took the umbrella out of Mycroft's hand, and his brother let her. He'd given the umbrella to Mycroft as a graduation gift, in the years when they'd both gotten along.

John watched them too. It was obvious that the umbrella was a favourite possession of Mycroft's, so it showed how much he trusted Anthea to just let her take it.

\---

"Why are we breaking into a house in the middle of the night?" John whispered as he stood beside Sherlock, rubbing his cold hands together.

"Mycroft has files that he won't give me." Sherlock muttered as he worked to pick the ten locks that were on Mycroft's front door.

"This is Mycroft's house?" John whispered in surprise, "Why are we breaking in?"

"Breaking in is quicker than trying to force him to give us the files." Sherlock replied.

John sighed and kept watch, making sure that no one saw them.

"Yes!" Sherlock whispered as the final lock click and he pushed the front door open. John followed him into the house and carefully closed the door behind them.

The hall light switched on and they both froze.

"Why are you breaking in?" Anthea asked. She was sat on the stairs in her dressing gown and slippers, clearly expecting them.

"Where's Mycroft? Not here, I hope." Sherlock said with a frown.

"He's upstairs asleep and you're not to wake him." Anthea replied, "He only returned from Moscow a few hours ago. Is there something I can help you with?"

"I need the files that he's hiding from me." Sherlock said.

Anthea sighed and led the way to a locked door in the back of the large townhouse. She unlocked it with a key that she retrieved from her dressing gown pocket. She pushed the door open and flicked on the light. The office was luxurious, with a chandelier and wood paneling.

"Wow." John murmured, looking around. The whole house was huge and it was clear that Mycroft was very wealthy.

"Which filing cabinet?" Sherlock asked, practically shoving past Anthea.

"The one beside the window." Anthea replied, moving to sit down in Mycroft's office chair.

"Should I have a key made for you, brother?" came Mycroft's voice from the doorway. The man stepped into the room. He looked tired and was dressed in creased trousers and a shirt.

"That would be easier." Sherlock replied sarcastically.

Anthea walked over to her husband, "You should be in bed." she said.

"I have slept quite enough." Mycroft dismissed.

"You need more sleep and you know it. The doctors said-" Anthea started.

"I know what the doctors said, Anthea!" Mycroft snapped. The room fell silent as it was rare that Mycroft lost his temper. "Apologies. I am more tired that I thought." he murmured before he walked away.

Anthea sighed, "He gets frustrated. His mind is slower nowadays and it makes him angry." she said, "Middle age frustrates him."


	2. Chapter 2

"It's not just diabetes is it?" Sherlock asked as he searched through the filing cabinet in Mycroft's home office.

"No. It's not just diabetes." Anthea replied with a sigh, going back to sit on the edge of the desk.

"A tumour." John guessed, looking over at Anthea.

"Yes." Anthea said with a nod.

Sherlock stopped going through the paperwork and looked over at Anthea, "A tumour? I didn't see that." he admitted.

"He hides it as best he can. You know how he is." Anthea replied, "He's okay though. He has a team of doctors keeping him going."

"When was it diagnosed?" John asked.

"Last year when he wasn't getting along with Sherlock. Depending on the size and speed of growth, the doctors gave him an estimate of 2 to 10 years." Anthea explained.

"It's growing, isn't it? That's why he's forgetting things and becoming irritable." Sherlock said, "I want to see his medical files."

"Sherlock, I'm sure Mycroft has the best doctors looking after him." John said reassuringly.

"I don't care. They are idiots. I want to see his files." Sherlock replied dismissively.

"You'll have to talk to him about that. I won't give you access to anything personal." Anthea admitted.

Sherlock sighed and slammed the filing cabinet shut. Taking the file with him, he went out into the hall and straight upstairs.

"He's seems surprisingly sentimental all of a sudden." John said quietly to Anthea.

"They do care about each other, despite what they say." Anthea replied with a smile.

\---

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock demanded, standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

Mycroft sat up in bed and sighed, "You know then. About the tumour." he murmured.

"Obviously." Sherlock replied.

"I didn't want to bother you. It's not serious yet." Mycroft said dismissively.

"Were you going to tell me when it was serious? When you were dying?" Sherlock hissed.

"I'm dying right now." Mycroft snapped, "I'm dying every day, as the damn thing grows in size!"

"Why haven't you had it removed? Surely they can operate?" Sherlock asked.

"They can, but the risk is too severe. I would rather forget minor things over time than be left with memories permanently destroyed." Mycroft replied.

"Ah. I see." Sherlock nodded, "How are you coping?"

"I work, as always. I will continue to work until I'm forced to stop." Mycroft replied, checking his mobile on the nightstand.

"You could be doing yourself an awful lot of damage. You may live longer if you slow down and rest." John said from behind Sherlock.

"I've heard that before, John. My own doctors have said that." Mycroft muttered, "I live for my work. I have no wish to slow down."

"You may not have much choice." John warned, "You don't have to give up your work. Just take some days off."

"Your words are no comfort whatsoever, Dr Watson." Mycroft sighed.

"We should leave you in peace. Goodnight, Mycroft." John said before he left the room.

"John is right, brother. You shouldn't put your work before your health." Sherlock admitted.

"And what if it were you? Would you happily give up your cases? Would you sit at home all day?" Mycroft demanded.

"No." Sherlock sighed, "I wouldn't."


	3. Chapter 3

"Another case that you can't solve, brother?" Sherlock said, casually strolling out of his bedroom dressed in a sheet.

"No. As ever, I lack the time to thoroughly examine all of the facts." Mycroft replied, placing the file down on the glass coffee table.

"I see you're eating cake again. Has the diet gone out the window?" Sherlock teased.

"Given the circumstances, I decided to stop denying myself the things I enjoy." Mycroft replied simply, his face not revealing his emotions.

"Very well." Sherlock murmured with a nod, sitting down in his armchair. He reached over and picked up the file from the coffee table, flicking through the papers inside.

"Good morning Mycroft." John said as he came down from his bedroom dressed in his pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers.

"Good morning, John. I'm sorry to disturb you on a Sunday." Mycroft replied, glancing at John.

"It's no problem. Don't you ever take a day off?" John asked.

"No. My job never ends." Mycroft answered, "Although Sundays are usually quieter, I admit."

"Are you allowed to disclose how busy Sundays usually are, brother?" Sherlock asked sarcastically, "I would have thought there would be a clause in the Official Secrets Act that restricted the discussion of busy days."

"Be quiet, Sherlock." Mycroft said with a roll of his eyes.

John chuckled as he watched the two brothers, "Tea, Mycroft?" he offered.

"Yes please, John." Mycroft agreed with a nod before he turned back to his brother, "Well, will you take the case?"

"Not yet." Sherlock replied. He handed the picture of the crime scene to his brother. "Tell me what you see, brother." he challenged.

"I really am busy today, Sherlock. I don't have time for games." Mycroft protested.

"Nonsense. You've just ordered tea from John." Sherlock said dismissively, "Come on. Let's play deductions."

Mycroft sighed and looked down at the crime scene, "A seventh floor flat in Central London. Most probably near Bank given the skyline that the window looks out onto." he said.

"You've read the file. Those are just facts from the front page. Tell me about the details. The scratch on the wall, for instance, how did that get there?" Sherlock prompted.

Mycroft was silent until John appeared with tea. "Thank you, John." he said, accepting the cup and putting the picture down.

"You don't know, do you?" Sherlock said in frustration, frowning at his brother.

"Sherlock..." John said gently, a slight warning in his tone.

"You always know. You always win. Always." Sherlock continued, getting to his feet, "Why don't you know?"

"This is just as frustrating for me as it is for you, Sherlock." Mycroft replied, putting the cup down and also getting to his feet, "I don't enjoy becoming a _goldfish_."

"You're not even fighting it. You're just letting it happen." Sherlock argued.

"What can I do, Sherlock? My mind is falling apart around me!" Mycroft snapped, picking up his umbrella and moving towards the door, "I have work to do. Good day, brother. John."

"Mycroft..." Sherlock sighed, watching his brother leave.

"You shouldn't bring it up so aggressively. He can't do anything about it." John told his flatmate gently.

"I am aware, John." Sherlock snapped and strolled back to his bedroom, slamming the door shut.


	4. Chapter 4

Anthea arrived at 221B almost a month later, to collect the case files once Sherlock had found the criminal.

"Did I scare Mycroft away?" Sherlock asked without looking up from his thinking pose.

"You didn't scare him, he's resting today." Anthea replied, fiddling with her wedding ring.

"Don't be ridiculous. Mycroft doesn't rest." Sherlock scoffed.

"Well, he's resting today." Anthea repeated, not rising to Sherlock's taunts.

"These are the files." Sherlock sighed dramatically, holding a folder up.

Anthea walked over to him and took the file, "Thank you." she replied, turning away.

Sherlock caught her wrist as she turned away, "You've been turning your ring. You're particularly worried about him today. Are his symptoms getting worse?"

Anthea sighed and nodded, "Yes, worse by the day." she said, "He's at home today because he could barely get up this morning."

"Sickness?" Sherlock guessed.

"Yes." Anthea replied, "He has tablets from his doctor now, but he tries to work 20 hour days without them."

"Is he resting or is he working from home?" Sherlock asked.

Anthea laughed, "I locked his laptop and phone in the safe." she admitted.

Sherlock laughed too, "That won't stop him for very long." he said.

Anthea shook her head, suddenly becoming sad and serious, "He can't concentrate, Sherlock. It's awful." she sighed.

"I'll come with you." Sherlock decided, getting to his feet, "I might be able to help."

"Be gentle. Please." Anthea pleaded, following him to the door.

\---

"Brother!" Sherlock shouted when he entered the large Chelsea townhouse.

"Sherlock!" Anthea reprimanded quietly, leading the way upstairs. She entered the bedroom first and went straight to the bed, "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Tired." Mycroft murmured. He was propped up in bed with the curtains shut and the light off.

"Migraines?" Sherlock guessed as he approached the bed.

"No games today, Sherlock. I haven't got the energy." Mycroft sighed, clearly frustrated.

"Have you taken your tablets?" Anthea asked, glancing at her watch and touching her husband's forehead.

Mycroft shook his head, "Where did you put them?" he asked.

"Here." Anthea sighed, holding up the pill bottle on the nightstand.

Sherlock watched his brother's reaction and knew he had to step in. His relationship with Mycroft had always been rocky, but he wasn't cruel. He climbed onto the bed beside Mycroft and turned the bedside light on.

"Sherlock." Mycroft frowned, closing his eyes.

"Deductions. Come on, I'll even give you an easy one." Sherlock said, trying to distract his brother from his pain.

"You're like a child. I didn't want to play pirates with you then, and I don't want to play with you now." Mycroft muttered.

"Humour me. Please. Brother." Sherlock said quietly, pleading in his voice.

"Fine." Mycroft finally agreed, opening his eyes and turning towards Sherlock.

"Look at this and tell me about it." Sherlock said, handing over his own watch.

"Your watch?" Mycroft frowned in confusion.

"Yes. Tell me about it. What have I been doing today whilst wearing the watch?" Sherlock prompted.

"Experiments. Something with carbon and magnesium. No...wait...you burnt magnesium and ended up with small amounts of carbon." Mycroft deduced, examining the watch.

"Yes, now tell me more. Why was I burning magnesium?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft frowned as he thought about it, looking for more clues on the watch. He sniffed at the watchstrap and let out a chuckle. "Tobacco. You've misplaced your lighter." he replied.

"Correct. Well done, brother. You are not as far gone as you think." Sherlock assured.


	5. Chapter 5

John returned home from work one afternoon to find Sherlock sat in silence. 221B was calm and quiet, with no experiments filling the kitchen. John paused in the doorway as he looked over his flatmate's still figure, unsure what he could say to offer comfort.

"Anthea called." Sherlock broke the silence, but his gaze remained on the pack of cigarettes in his hand.

John nodded a little and walked over to the sofa. He sat down beside Sherlock. "How is she?" he asked, choosing his words carefully.

"She's upset, but she's not shocked. We all saw it coming." Sherlock replied, pulling out his lighter and lighting his cigarette.

"Will you be taking part in the funeral plans?" John asked, looking down at his hands.

Sherlock scoffed, "No. Planning is Anthea's strength, not mine." he replied, "Whatever she puts together will be adequate."

John nodded again, "I'm sure she will plan a nice day." he said.

"I never thought I would outlive him." Sherlock admitted quietly, tapping his cigarette on the glass ashtray on the coffee table.

\---

Anthea stepped out of 221B and looked up at the rain that was steadily falling onto the street.

Sherlock stepped out beside her, turning his collar up against the weather. He looked down at his brother's umbrella in his hand and carefully opened it. He held the sturdy wooden handle of the umbrella and made sure that Anthea was covered from the rain.

"I don't think I ever saw him use his umbrella." Anthea said softly, glancing up at her brother-in-law.

"He didn't need to use it. He always traveled by car." Sherlock replied with a slight smile.

John followed them out onto the street, closing the front door behind himself. He was surprised by how friendly Sherlock had been towards Anthea when he was usually so cold to everyone. He watched his flatmate walk Anthea to the car. With a sigh, John followed them into the car and shut the door.

The car whisked them away to Highgate Cemetery where the funeral was due to take place.

"Wow. This place is impressive." John murmured, looking out of the window as they passed through the maze of tombstones.

"He wanted somewhere traditional." Anthea replied softly, "Highgate is where many great figures have been buried, I thought it was only right that Mycroft be buried here."

 "We visited here as children." Sherlock said softly, looking out at the cemetery through the rain-speckled windows, "Mycroft enjoyed history, so cemeteries were his favourite places to visit."

\---

"Will she be alright?" John asked as he stood beside Sherlock, watching as Anthea stood beside the grave after the service.

"She'll be fine. Mycroft left everything to her in his will. He was very wealthy." Sherlock replied.

"I don't mean financially." John admitted, "He was her boss, so will she still have a job?"

"Anthea will step into Mycroft's job." Sherlock replied, "He trained her so I'm sure she'll manage."

"You'll have to be nice to your sister-in-law to get what you want." John teased.

"I'm always nice to her." Sherlock replied with a slight pout.

After a slight pause, both John and Sherlock burst into laughter.

"We can't laugh at your brother's funeral. It's a bit not good!" John chuckled.

Sherlock chuckled, "I don't think anyone has noticed."


End file.
